Harbinger Capital

Remember, back in 2009, when Phil Falcone loaned himself $113 million from a gated investor fund to pay state and federal taxes? Initially his chief operating officer, Peter Jenson, had tried to convince the Harbinger Capital founder to borrow the money against assets like his townhouse, artwork, St. Barts estate, and interest in the Minnesota Wild.

Unfortunately for Jenson, Falcone decided he’d rather be banned from the securities industry than jeopardize his beloved hockey team and told the COO to look into the just-borrow-from-investors option, ultimately deciding it was the wisest idea. It was at this point that Jenson probably should’ve bowed out instead of going along with the plan, which he’s now paying for. Read more »

  • 30 May 2014 at 4:11 PM

Phil Falcone Insists FCC Do What He Cannot

Falcone, whose Harbinger Capital hedge fund owns the bankrupt LightSquared, a high-speed wireless start-up, is asking the Federal Communications Commission to take “immediate” action to stem the barrels of red ink flowing from the company. In a letter to the FCC, Falcone is urging the regulator to “mitigate further damage” to Harbinger, which invested $3 billion in LightSquared only to see the agency pull the plug on the company in 2012. On Wednesday, Falcone asked the FCC to take “immediate, positive action” to reverse Harbinger’s losses, according to the letter sent by his legal team. [NYP]

Not just because he’s not Jewish, but also because, according to Dealbook, he’s already got a bitter taste in his mouth. (Which, somewhat surprisingly, has nothing to do with his 5 year ban from the securities industry or Charlie Eregn.) Read more »

Phil Falcone has apparently found yet another bright side to being banned from the securities industry for 5 years: free time to run errands in the middle of the day. Read more »

  • 20 Sep 2013 at 5:16 PM

Lisa Marie Falcone Is Back, Baby!

Thought a little $18 million fine and a 5-year ban from the securities industry for her husband was going to keep Her Fabulousness in the shadows, shut off from the world, inside her speakeasy/closet? Think again! Read more »

Billionaire hedge-fund manager Philip Falcone’s $18 million settlement with U.S. regulators that includes a five-year ban from the securities industry and an admission of wrongdoing was accepted by a federal judge. U.S. District Judge Paul A. Crotty in Manhattan today said in a written order that the agreement reached last month with Falcone and Harbinger Capital Partners LLC is “appropriate and proportionate to the defendants’ admitted wrongful conduct.” [Bloomberg, earlier, earlier]

The light streaming into the hotel room blinded Wilbur. Or at least she thought it was a hotel room. She didn’t actually know where she was, or what time it was, or who the guy passed out next to her was. The only thing she knew for sure was that she had a pounding headache and that there was something sticking to the back of her knee. She reached down and peeled it off– a greasy crumpled up wrapper that judging by the smell once held a Taco Bell Gordita. Not that she could remember eating one, let alone doing so laying in bed next to a guy with a barbed wired tattoo inked around his arm, and then writing “If found call 555-9768 and ask for Phil” down his back with a tube of lipstick, though it was clearly her handwriting, her color, and her artistic sensibility in the stick figure drawings next to the note.

The phone on the nightstand lit up. Wilbur let it ring through. It lit up again. Who could possibly calling? Who knew she or man-of-unknown-origin were here? It lit up again. On the third ring she picked up.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon!” a too chipper voice said on the other line. “This is your wake-up call.”

“I asked for a wake-up call?” From the looks of things she knew she certainly needed a wake up call, but not the kind that phoned you from the front desk, the kind that said splashed cold water on your face and said, “Wake up and take stock of your life lady you are in a hotel room with a guy with a barbed wire tattoo laying in a bed surrounded, literally, by trash, from Taco Bell. You don’t know what city or state you’re in and while you’re mercifully fully clothed and don’t have to contemplate what the spawn of this night of wrongs might look like, it appears somewhere in your travels you acquired a Credence Clearwater shirt that you turned into a crop top.”

“Why yes ma’am you did.”

“What time is it?”

“12:37PM on the dot, the exact time you asked us to call.”

“Do you know why I asked for that time?”

“I wasn’t working when you checked in ma’am but let me check the notes. Let me see, it says here you told Bobby ‘Must be up by 12:37, no earlier, not later, have business to tend to. Do not fuck me on this Bobert. Are you writing this down Bobert? Make sure you’re writing this down.’”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Wilbur muttered under her breath.

“Sorry ma’m I didn’t catch that.”

“Nothing. Thanks.”

*************************************************************

24 hours earlier Read more »